


Tender Hands

by claudine



Series: claudine's summerpornathon 2013 [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bathing/Washing, Canon Era, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Pre-coronation, Season/Series 04, Summer Pornathon 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 16:30:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudine/pseuds/claudine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bathing Arthur is a duty Merlin cherishes, no matter how much he grumbles about it—a time when it is only the two of them—<i>private time</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tender Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Challenge Five: [Canon Era](http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/93970.html)  
> Entry #46  
> This placed first in its group. Thank you to everyone who voted for me! :)
> 
> Big thanks to **[kylezy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kylezy)** for doing some serious last-minute beta before submission. ♥

The small splashes of water punctuate the silence. 

In the cool evening, everything feels so much less real, like they’re ensconced in a bubble where no one can disturb them. 

Merlin draws his sleeves up to his elbows, uses the wooden bathwater scoop to douse Arthur’s head—the head that tomorrow will wear the crown, and the burden of the kingdom with it.

He massages Arthur’s scalp tenderly, his fingers dispersing the soap suds through dark honey-blonde hair, wiping away the sweat and grime of the day.

It’s a duty he cherishes no matter how much he grumbles about it—a time when it is only the two of them— _private time_.

It is something that he can give Arthur; the worship of his hands on Arthur’s body, cleansing and soothing him, taking away all the frustrations of a hard day before they bed down together for the night.

“You’re quiet,” Arthur says.

“Are you complaining?” Merlin says, his voice deliberately light.

Arthur shakes his head slightly, creating ripples in the bathwater. Merlin brings the washcloth to wipe at Arthur’s face, gentle. Up close, his lashes catch the candlelight, glinting like gold. His throat is bared and pink from the bath. It causes a warmth to curl in Merlin’s gut. 

Merlin gulps in a shuddery breath.

Tomorrow, Arthur will be _King_.

“Tomorrow—” Merlin says.

Arthur opens his eyes. Grasps Merlin’s wrist, quick as a flash.

“Shh,” he says. “Don’t talk.”

Arthur stands, sloshing water, and Merlin is quick to dry him.

Merlin slips the shirt on Arthur, patting down the material, and his fingers still on Arthur’s collarbone, lingering. He looks up slowly.

Arthur’s eyes meet his, a well of emotion in them. He moves forward to kiss Merlin in a chaste meeting of lips that’s soft and wet. But then Arthur’s mouth opens under Merlin’s, sucking on Merlin’s bottom lip and he’s lost. His hands grip tight on Arthur’s back as they kiss, exchanging breath and spit. 

Merlin begins to rub against Arthur’s thigh, his cock already a stiff tent in his breeches. They walk backwards to the bed, and Merlin unlaces them, his fingers suddenly clumsy.

They’ve done this so many times—in Arthur’s room, on a grassy plain, in tents during long visits away from Camelot—but there’s a heaviness present tonight, like one misstep will jar the fragile balance they’ve held for the past year.

The scent of the salve is sharp in the air, hitting Merlin’s nostrils as he uses it to slick them. Then it’s a slippery slide, warm and so good.

“Arthur,” Merlin murmurs, reaching down to shift his fringe out of his eyes. He is beautiful like this, flushed and warm beneath him, his eyes dark with a narrow rim of blue.

Arthur reaches between them and starts to fist their cocks at a slow, languid pace.

“I want this to last,” he finally says. 

Merlin grips Arthur, his thumb on the head already glistening with precome, and rubs, eliciting a soft moan from him.

“Arthur, you’ll—” Merlin says.

“I won’t marry,” Arthur says fiercely, even as they rut against each other. “I don’t want a queen.”

“They’ll talk.”

“ _Let them_.”

And in that moment, Merlin sees the king he will be: King of Camelot—High King of Albion. A new age, arrived. Destiny’s wheels turning, and things slotting into place as they should. 

Merlin gasps, spurting come between them. Without his notice, his free hand has clasped Arthur’s, their fingers entwined. Arthur comes without a sound, his face contorted with pleasure.

Somewhere far away, a dragon’s wings beat in the air.


End file.
